


Take Me High (And I'll Sing)

by KaoticLoki



Series: Sick or Sane [6]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Comics), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint is a Good Dude, Gen, Hurt Loki (Marvel), I choose to ignore Infinity War, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki is good with kids, My last tag rhymed, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Thanos needs to die, infinity war fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:46:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaoticLoki/pseuds/KaoticLoki
Summary: After the Infinity War, Clint has been trying to protect what is left of his family. While on a run for supplies, he stumbles upon a certain god that had supposedly been dead for years. Clint has to make some choices and they will turn his new life upside down.





	Take Me High (And I'll Sing)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's been a minute. I've been working on this since early January, but life sometimes gets in the way. The rest of the time, my muse just decides to disappear to I know not where. Regardless! It's finally done!
> 
> I am absolutely TERRIFIED of what Endgame is going to bring for Loki fans, so finishing and posting before it was released was my goal. My fingers are crossed for my favorite trickster but the outlook is bleak.
> 
> As always, thank you to my AMAZING beta, cosmic_medusa. Read her story Castles in the Air if you want an amazing Loki & Thor tale! It's brilliant!

“I’m hungry, Daddy.” The dark-haired little girl never stopped coloring, head tilting from side to side as she regarded her own work. The toddler in the highchair next to her continuously reached for the crayons. Chubby fingers would _finally_ graze one, only for the elder to pull them from his grasp. Minutes later, when she would change colors, they would roll back toward him, and the process would start all over again.

****

Clint Barton's hand ran through gentle spikes of dirty blonde as he hid his anxiety to offer his daughter a fond smile. “I know, peanut. I have to go on a supply run today.” He watched her little face fall and his heart ached.

****

It had been six months since the Infinity War: six months since half the world had disappeared into ash. He himself had gathered the ashes of his wife Laura and eldest son Cooper. The remains sat in two labeled jars on the mantle, a candle between them that was always burning. The world had not taken long to spin into chaos and disarray. Riots and murder and war… even the boring state of Iowa had dissolved into something straight out of a zombie apocalypse movie.  Somehow, electricity was not yet scarce and the farm had a well that kept water in ready supply. Clint had removed his ankle monitor after the second month, following his first supply run. When SHIELD had not flooded the farm, he deducted that they had bigger problems than an archer on house arrest.

****

“I don't wanna go in the bunker.” Small fists settled against small cheeks as Lila propped her elbows on the table in a terribly effective pout. Nathaniel simply threw his sippy cup to the floor with a wet giggle. “It's scary down there.”

****

“I promise not to be long, sweetheart.” Clint rose from his perch and rounded the table. His daughter turned in her chair to face him as he kneeled beside her. “I need you to be brave for your little brother,” he explained, hands on her knees. “We need more food and the provisions will drop today. I have to make sure I’m there.” He needed batteries for his hearing aids as well as ammunition, but he would leave her ignorant to those details.

****

“Why can't we go too?” There was a whining in her voice that made him long to scoop her up and tell her he'd never have to leave again. That day, however, was in the distant, unforeseeable future...if it existed at all.  

****

“It's too dangerous.” He offered, knowing she couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of the world's problems outside their little farm.

****

Just when he thought she'd argue further, Lila simply nodded and slid her little body around on the chair to hop off the opposite side. He observed solemnly as his daughter removed the tray to the high chair and placed it on the table. She expertly handled her toddler brother though he was not much smaller than her. When she disappeared from the dining room with Nathaniel in tow, Clint sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He was constantly patrolling, adjusting security measures, gathering supplies, and anything else that assisted in the safety and health (and survival) of his children. However, that meant little time was left to actually _be_ with his children.

****

The archer stood and grabbed his gun, bow, and quiver. The weapons were less than SHIELD quality by far, simple hunting weaponry that barely sufficed. He made it work. He had no choice. He met Lila at the door and opened it to usher her outside, smiling at the blissfully unaware toddler she carried. The door was quickly secured and they began the short trek to the bunker.

****

SHIELD had installed the bunker when he had requested his family remain classified; a safe haven for them should they need to abandon the farm and await rescue. It was less than half a mile from the house, just inside the treeline. He looked around for possible threats while Lila and Nathaniel disappeared into the trees. When satisfied that the coast was clear, he followed and opened a small bark door on an oak tree, revealing a keypad underneath. There was no tone as he entered the code, the only noise was the hiss of a door as the grass retreated to reveal a set of stairs.

****

There was a loud 'boom’ in the distance that reminded Clint of Thor's 'beam me up’ lights. Lila was already heading inside the bunker while the marksman awaited any further noise or sign of danger. Supply drops were near silent with the use of SHIELD aircrafts. Hearing explosions and gunfire was not uncommon, but as empty as the the nearest town had become, one burst of any sound that could be interpreted as war was all he'd come to expect. Out there, it was kill or be killed.

****

When nothing else was heard, he followed his children, closing the door behind him to ease his paranoia. It was a small space, fitting a set of metal bunks and shelves stocked with non-perishable food and water. Lila had brought down games and toys to pass the time when her father would need to leave them. There was electricity, powered by a generator with Tony Stark's emblem, so short periods of cartoons via flash drive were feasible. Lila placed her brother on the lower bunk and gave him toys, relieved when he accepted then and began to play.

****

“Please hurry, daddy. I don't like it down here.”

****

Clint was setting up dinner for them, pausing to smile sadly over his shoulder. “I promise not to take any longer than necessary.” Covering the containers, he placed them back on the shelf, albeit lower so Lila need not climb. “You can eat now or wait. ‘Frozen’ is ready whenever you want to turn it on.” He kneeled in front of her and tucked a strand of hair behind her little ear. “You're so brave.”

****

She smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. Little arms wrapped around Clint's neck and then she was off to entertain the toddler. The agent sighed and watched them for a moment longer. He was never certain he would return from one these runs, so he made sure to leave with their smiling faces being the last image of them as he exited the bunker.

****

Clint was always careful when he would reemerge, never knowing if they had been followed or stumbled upon by chance. It was never worth the risk to be careless. He came up quickly, entering the command to seal the door before he had fully exited. Arrow notched, he turned in a slow circle. _Clear._ He kept the string pulled slightly, arrow aimed at the ground as he walked.

****

The road to town had fortunately always remained deserted and quiet. Today was no different. Still, the former agent kept his weapon at the ready. Experience had taught him that the moment you let your guard down was the moment it all would go wrong. That fact had remained. Just as house arrest was seeming more like a vacation, Laura had called his name and he had met her eyes as she dissipated into dust.

****

Clint closed his eyes and quickly pushed the memory to the back of his mind. To focus on it now would not only be foolish but also selfish. Lila and Nathaniel were depending on him. Getting himself killed would surely mean their deaths as well. _Focus._

****

The Archer's confidence was on a rapid decline. First: The noise he had heard from atop the bunker. Second: He could see the smoke before he could make out the buildings. Something was _definitely_ not right. He lowered to walk with knees slightly bent, creeping into town with calculated stealth. He could hear nothing but the crackling of small fires that still burned from whatever sort of bomb had been dropped. What few people remained had taken to hiding in their homes, much like himself. He doubted anyone would venture out today after the ruckus. The epicenter appeared to be the local grocery/pharmacy, dark clouds of smoke boiling from the gaping hole in the top of the structure.

****

_Great. It would happen exactly where I need to be._

****

He sighed and pressed his back to the wall just beside the shattered glass door. Hanging his bow around the quiver on his back, he drew his gun. His hunting bow was nothing compared to his arsenal that he had once carried in his line of work. He needed the simplicity of a firearm. Weapon pointed down, he leaned into the broken door and then took aim.

****

Nothing immediately threatening, but he wasn’t fooled.

****

Since losing his hearing all those years ago, Clint’s other senses had heightened. While others would have been overwhelmed by the smell of smoke or the destruction they were witnessing, the trained former SHIELD agent could _feel_ something out of the ordinary. It was a vibration. A static charge in the air that he couldn’t easily explain.

****

Some of the grocery shelving units were destroyed, boxes and other assorted packages ruined and burning on the floor. Everything inside the place had been picked through months ago, so it wasn’t a huge loss. However, he hoped by the time he finished here, there would still be supplies around back. He glanced up, eyes squinted to see through the slowly clearing smoke,and continued to walk toward the pharmacy area. The variation in the air was growing more intense. There was a strange hissing noise that he couldn’t identify. Something was definitely inside the pharmacy. He twisted around the barely standing opening to the once glassed-in area and took aim.

****

Clint Barton was a trained professional. But in that moment, he did not even react when his gun slipped from suddenly inept fingers.

****

There, lying in a mess of debris, was his own worst nightmare—Loki of Asgard.

****

His hair was longer; his armor was different, but there was no doubt it was him. How? He was supposed to be dead! Thor had told the story. Clint had celebrated while his friend had mourned. How was this possible? He scrambled out of the room, snatching the bow off this back and nocking an arrow. Bow drawn and aimed, he continued to back toward the entrance. Survival was a must, even if it meant foregoing an opportunity for sweet, satisfying revenge on the god that had invaded his mind all those years ago.

****

From the door, he could still feel that thrum of what he assumed was the trickster's magic but less intensely and the hissing sound was absent. What's more, there was still no indication that Loki was following.

****

“I don't have time for you today!” Clint called. “Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to settle this, but I've got more important matters to tend to, so raincheck, asshole!”

****

Silence was the only reply.

****

“I'm leaving!” He tried again. Still nothing. He would never admit to the tremble he could see in his weapon. One foot stepped back through the door and he began to turn when a familiar voice replayed in his head.

****

_“My brother committed many crimes, wronged many people, on my realm as well as Midgard. Even I thought him beyond redemption and intended to return him to his eternal prison once the enemy had fallen. It wasn't to be. I fought and I fell and I would have died had Loki not given his life in trade for mine. For Jane's. He made a sacrifice that I can never repay. I can, however, ensure that he is remembered for what he truly was. Behind his snark and rage and mischief was a good man. A hero.”_

****

Clint growled in annoyance and twisted back inside the building. “You really should let Thor know you're still kickin’, man. I can't tell you where to find him but I'm sure you'll figure it out.”

****

_Still_ no reply.

****

“If you're trying to bait me, it won't work.” The archer snarled even as he took another step closer to the pharmacy. _This is stupid, Barton. It's just what he wants. Just go home and find a way to get in touch with Stark or Cap or_ someone _who isn't you!_ He reached the pharmacy area, easing his way back around and inside. His gun was still on the floor.

****

So was Loki.

****

The hissing was back, though it was...harsher? Slower? “On your feet.” Two quick steps and his foot was on the firearm. “I said on your feet, Loki!” Gun now in hand, Clint kept it aimed while he placed the arrow back in the quiver and hung the bow. The god had yet to move and _what_ was that _noise_ ?! “Look, I’d love nothing more than to put a bullet in your brain but I’d never be able to look at your brother if I didn’t at least _try_ to entertain the thought that _you_ are capable of being something other than a Grade A brainwashing dick! So get up and keep your hands where I can see them!”

****

Now that he was inching closer, he could see the rips, blood, and dirt decorating the leather from Loki's shins to his collar. That's when Clint lowered the gun.

****

“Shit.”

****

Loki's neck was a mess: bruised and swollen flesh with a bone to the right that was jutted out underneath the skin. Blood, dried _and_ fresh, covered the areas next to his mouth, nose, eyes, and ears. And that sound—that _hiss_ —was Loki attempting to breathe. Realization hit the archer like a dropkick from Cap to the chest:

****

Someone had broken Loki's neck.

 

“Can you hear me?” Clint whispered, caution out the window, and he kneeled next to the god's shoulder. Eyes rolling behind bruised lids was as close to a response as he could get at the moment. “This had better not be a trick.” The gun was tucked into the back of his pants at the waist, now empty hands hovering as if he had forgotten his training.

****

_Assess the victim. Airway definitely obstructed. Pulse._ He opted for a wrist, flinching at the chill in the god's skin. _Racing. Blood oxygen low, CO2 high. He needs to breathe. How long has he been like this?_ “Loki. Loki!” No response, though his eyelids had begun to flutter, the whites of his eyes partially visible underneath.

****

“Hang on, man.” Clint growled and stood, digging through the shelves and cabinets that weren't destroyed. Everything he needed had been stockpiled back at the farm but Loki wouldn't make it that far. He paused his frantic digging through a bin and tilted his head. “The supplies!” He hesitated and briefly pondered on assuring that he would return but ultimately decided to simply go. There was no time and this _was_ Loki. _Let_ him wonder if he’d been abandoned.

****

He bolted from the room, boots loudly slapping the tile all the way to the delivery bay. The smoke billowed through the wide doorway once the archer had pushed open the door. Much to his dismay, other residents were scrounging through the supply bins, several looking up when the large metal door hit the railing on the walkway behind it. A woman pushed a young boy behind her and Clint realized she was staring at the weapons on his back. As he advanced, no one spoke. He held his hands up in a placating gesture and stopped just short of the bins. “I need medical supplies quickly. Are there any left?” There was only silence, and he had no time to waste. He stepped forward and began to sift through the contents of each bin.

****

“Here.” Clint turned to meet the gentle eyes of the young boy. He was holding out a large, clear plastic bag with a red cross on it. The archer looked up to the mother, who nodded. “We’ll find another.”

****

“Thank you.” A smile was offered and returned before he jogged back inside. He still needed supplies for the farm but he could pull from the bunker if necessary. Once back to the door, his hand paused over the handle and he considered asking for help. _No._ This was Loki. He couldn’t drag innocent civilians into this.

****

Clint was tearing open the plastic bag before he reached the pharmacy where he had left the god. He had barely entered the building when he realized the atmosphere had changed. There was no vibration, no thrum of magic. No noise. _Shit!_  He ran, sliding to his knees next to the prone man. Loki’s lips were blue-tinged, the pallor of his skin alarmingly gray. “Loki!” The archer grabbed a limp wrist, finding a slowing rhythm underneath his fingers. He was running out of time.

****

He could still walk away. Pretend he never saw this.

****

He dumped the contents of the bag onto the floor and sifted through them haphazardly. “Come on!” He hissed through clenched teeth. _Please tell me… yes!_ He tore open the emergency airway kit and rightly held the scalpel. The god’s neck was a nightmare he may not be able to come back from, but Clint _had_ to try—for Thor. He placed two knowledgeable fingers on Loki's Adam's apple and slid them down no more than an inch.

****

Fingers shaking, he pressed the scalpel down against the purpling flesh of Loki’s throat and just as the first drop of blood was pushed from the small stoma to swallow the metal tip, Clint found a bone-shattering grip on his wrist before he had even realized the god had moved. “Loki! I nearly slit your throat, you absolute fucking—” The archer froze and could feel his irritation flee at the look of pure, unadulterated fear in Loki’s pale gaze. Dark brows were drawn and arched, mouth hanging open silently. Clint was not sure Loki was seeing anything at all. Gray lips opened and closed, working without sound to form a single word:

****

_‘No.’_

****

The former agent felt his stomach bottom out but quickly countered with a scoff, a million retorts filtering through his arsenal before he settled on one for the sake of time. “I’m not letting you die.” Loki’s body was twitching with the need for oxygen and Clint’s gaze flickered up to a singed time piece on the wall. “Loki, how are you even—” He started as the god’s grip fell away; his bloodshot eyes rolling back into his head. “I hope you realize how you just fucked with my window of opportunity here!”

****

The scalpel sliced quickly through the skin and left an opening just below an inch long, its depth less than that. He retrieved the trach tube and pinched the skin to open the incision enough to insert the tube. “Come on.” His brow drew together as he watched; listened. When seconds passed without change, the archer leaned forward, his stomach knotting and twisting. He couldn’t stop now, never mind the discomfort. He placed his lips around the tube and sucked, not able to pull air through. “Fuck!” Clint was quick to pull the tube free and replace it, holding his own breath this time. After only seconds, there was a faint gurgling and then a hiss. Carefully, he released the tube and held his palm over it. Wisps of air tickled his skin and the archer sagged in relief.

****

Loki was breathing.

****

He was breathing but he was not out of danger. Surprisingly, Clint did not hesitate. He quickly taped the tube and then wrapped the god’s neck with gauze and medical tape. Though he was done within minutes, he could already see a hint of color returning to Loki’s lips. He was stable. Now, Clint was faced with the inevitable question:

****

What now?

****

The archer moved and placed his back against the wall. Loki would definitely need care, but he couldn’t possibly bring Thor’s psycho brother to the farm—Lila and Nathaniel were there. The god in question flinched and drew Clint’s attention back. Loki appeared to be straddling the line between life and death. He was sweating and trembling, not to mention bruised and cut and burned. Something or _someone_ had done a number on him. The Hulk had bested Loki once but this was much, _much_ worse.

****

He rubbed a hand over his face, pausing to frame his chin.

****

What now?

****

* * *

 

The sun was bearing down, merciless, and Clint had no choice but to stop for rest. He pulled the makeshift straps off his arms, followed by the satchel of medical supplies, and tossed them to the ground before he took a seat under the shade of an old tree. Loki lay silently on the transport stretcher he’d improvised out of torn old boxes and dirty, tattered blankets; the only sound being the low whistle of air passing through the trach tube. His zip-tied hands rested on his stomach. Clint frowned. His patient was not looking much better than before. What _had_ changed was that the frenzied buzzing of the god’s magic was now a constant. Loki’s body was healing itself, he deduced. The injuries had just been too severe for it to be done without assistance; assistance _he_ had been burdened to provide.

 

Lucky him.

 

Clint leaned forward and looked up, eyes squinted. He needed to ensure the sun was not directly on Loki. The last thing he needed was to overheat, and he was already dehydrated and wearing a thick wrap of armor and leather. After a quick pulse and airway check, the archer sat back against the tree and closed his eyes.

 

He could clearly remember the first time he saw Thor. From his perch, high above the research tents, he had watched this monster of a man plow through everyone in his path to get to the strange relic that had crash landed. Clint remembered thinking how crazy the Æsir had appeared as he pulled the bowstring taut, waiting for SHIELD’S order. Little did he know how that night was going to change his life forever—that Thor would become one of his most trusted friends. Even after Loki’s invasion, Thor had stood with the Avengers. Together, they had saved the world — maybe even the universe — more times than he cared to recollect.

 

Clint opened one eye to take another look at the man on the stretcher and thought about how broken Thor had seemed when he had delivered the news of Loki’s death. The thunder god had never pointed it out, but Barton’s keen eye had spotted the dark hair braided into Thor’s golden mane.

 

So, what happened?

 

A question for another time. Perhaps he could read the reports once SHIELD could take charge of the trickster god. What mattered now was that he could tell Thor he had done everything in his power to keep the god’s little brother alive and out of the hands of HYDRA or other enemies.

 

There was a time where he had offered his home to the Avengers as a temporary safe haven when a threat had backed them into a corner. He had put his entire family at risk then… so why should it be any different now?

 

Because Loki _was_ the threat. Instead of the possibility of danger _finding_ them, he was _deliberately_ bringing it back to the farm. Any damages that followed would he his fault and his fault alone. But…. Thor needed his brother. _Desperately._ Ever since Clint had witnessed the way Laura and Cooper had dissipated, there was an emptiness clearly visible in his own eyes whenever he passed a mirror. He had now experienced debilitating loss; he saw that same loss reflected in the eyes of others, and he’d seen it in Thor’s when he told the team of Loki’s sacrifice. If he could spare _anyone_ — especially one of his comrades — that pain, he would go to any lengths necessary.

 

Even for Loki. This wasn’t _for_ Loki —this was for Thor.

 

He was absolutely doing the right thing.

 

* * *

 

There was _no way_ this was the right thing to do.

 

Clint stopped short of the front porch, leaving the prone god outside as he took the large supply bags that had been sitting on either side of Loki’s legs. They were quickly deposited inside before the archer stopped just outside the foyer, giving the house a once over. Where was he supposed to put the trickster now that he had him there?

 

He placed his hands on his hips and drummed his fingers, contemplating the guest room upstairs. Looking back to the makeshift stretcher, he rolled his aching shoulders and quickly dismissed the option. Master bedroom, it was.

 

Once he had manhandled the god onto the bed, he cut the zip-ties on his wrists only to replace one, securing Loki to the headboard. It wouldn’t be the most comfortable position, but better that than to take any risk. Clint sighed. He was already taking a risk. Many risks. _Too_ many risks. He was under no delusion that a zip-tie could hold Loki, but the trickster _was_ weakened and injured. It would work for the time being.

 

Now that _that_ was done, Clint needed to see his children. He could square things away with Loki when he returned. He walked briskly, bordering a sprint, and all the while thought of how he could (if he even _would_ ) explain this. Lila was her mother’s daughter, ever vigilant and so, so, clever. She would smell a lie before it even left his lips. His only options were to omit or to tell her the truth.

 

Omit. Definitely omit.

 

The door to the bunker opened with a hiss and Lila was up the steps before Clint could take the first one down. Her small arms wrapped around his waist and the archer had to fight to still his trembling. “Daddy, what took you so long? We were scared!”

 

“Things didn’t go as planned, but it’s all okay now.” He pulled her back to kneel in front of her and took her little face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay now.” Clint pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go home.” He remained on one knee as she nodded and ran back down the steps to gather her toddler brother. He fell in step with her once she had reached him, tousling her hair before sealing off the bunker.

 

The walk back was quiet, though nervous apprehension gnawing away at Clint’s gut, even more so when the house was within sight. An eerie weight settled over him as he walked up the porch steps, carefully placing himself in front of Lila and Nathaniel as they entered the home. “Wait right here for just a moment.” He said with a smile. He walked toward the master bedroom and peeked inside.

 

Loki was still motionless on the bed.

 

 _Thank God._ He spun on a heel and strutted back to the door. “Who’s hungry?” He asked while he placed his weapons (all but the pistol) by the table at the door. Nathaniel cooed and giggled when he was swept into his father’s arms. Lila hurried off into the kitchen, the shifting of the supply bags could be heard from just outside. Triumphantly, she ran back to him with a can of beef stew raised above her head.

 

Clint cooked it without hesitation.

 

* * *

 

With the kids asleep, Clint sat at Loki’s bedside, carefully inserting the IV catheter into a shallow vein in the god’s arm. After removing the vambrace and cutting the leather, — not an easy job in the slightest — he hadn’t been sure he could even pierce the skin, but it seemed that in some aspects, the Aesir were just like humans. He didn’t ponder on it any longer, concentrating on the task at hand. When a flash of blood entered the catheter hub, he quickly released the tourniquet. Holding the catheter in place with a little pressure, he discarded the needle into the rubbish bin and began to tape down the IV. There were four bags of fluids, so he had at least three days worth of life-saving liquids to offer the god as he recovered. _If_ he recovered. First bag hanging, Clint checked the tracheostomy and then vital signs. Loki was holding on for the time being.

 

Clint left the room and returned with a bowl of warm water and a washcloth. Loki was filthy and his other injuries were caked over with dried blood and dirt, outlined an angry red. He couldn’t risk infection taking hold. He had removed Loki’s cape back at the pharmacy after using it to help pull him onto the stretcher. Clint had made sure to pack the piece away and leave no more evidence than necessary. Now, he set about cutting and tearing away the god’s armor, discarding it all in the rubbish bin. With Loki’s chest now bare, Clint could see all the injuries: punctures, lacerations, burns, and bruising; all in various stages of healing. _What the hell happened to you?_

 

Loki remained unresponsive while the archer worked, cleaning, stitching, and bandaging. Not every wound required his attention, and he wondered if he should have left them _all_ alone. The less substantial cuts had knitted back together with a green glow before his very eyes. Clint sat back, arms dangling. Loki was a powerful god. He was dangerous. And he was on the Barton farm with a zip-tie being the only thing standing between him and the three occupants of the farmhouse.

 

 _This was a very,_ very _bad idea._

 

The trach tube wheezed in the otherwise silent room. The noise brought Clint’s gaze up to the god’s face, tight lines of pain lingering next to his eyes and mouth. How could _this_ be the same would-be conqueror of Earth? He looked so….human. Fragile, even.

 

With a sigh, Clint reached toward the bedside table and opened the drawer, pulling out his cellphone. He tapped the device against his palm repeatedly before finally looking at the screen. The signal was weak but enough. He scrolled through the numbers, thumb hovering over one _‘Tony Stark’_ . He glanced back to the figure on the bed. No, he was not the one to call. Who, then? Natasha and Steve were off the grid. Bruce hadn’t been seen in years. Thor was off galivanting through the galaxy and was most likely without the slightest clue that his brother was alive. Were _any_ of them even alive? He brought the phone to his head and tapped it gently against his forehead. He had to figure this out and soon, lest he be forced to tell —

 

“Daddy?”

 

 _Damn._ “Hey, princess!” He jumped up from the chair, attempting to bodily shield Loki from her view. Lila tilted her head and leaned to one side and then the other when he leaned as well.

 

“Who is that?”

 

 _Don’t lie._ “His name is Loki.”

 

“Is Loki sick?”

 

 _Don’t lie._ “No, he’s hurt, baby.”

 

“Who hurt him?

 

“I really don’t know.” _Not a lie._ “I found him like this.” Her little brow knitted and she began to cross the room. Clint’s breath hitched as his daughter crawled onto the bed and leaned over the unconscious god’s face. _Too close. Too close. Too close._ After a tense, quiet moment, she looked up at her father, as serious as ever.

 

“Did you give him the yuck medicine?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied the trach tube but she asked nothing else.

 

“No, I didn’t.”

 

“Mommy always gave us that when we didn’t feel well.” Her little palm came to rest on Loki’s brow and Clint could have sworn he saw the god's eye twitch. When she reached for the zip-tied wrist, his anxiety reached its peak.

 

“Lila!” She jerked her hand back, big eyes looking to him for explanation. He remembered she had no idea how dangerous Loki was. “Can you get it? The medicine, I mean. Can you go see if we have any?”

 

“Sure!” She beamed, backing her way off the bed. Clint smiled as best he could until she was past him and out the door. He then sank down in the chair and leaned forward, his face in his hands.

 

So much for omitting.

 

Phone all but forgotten, he stared at the wall beyond the bed and played out every scenario he could think of at the time: Loki awakens and kills them all. Loki awakens and simply disappears. Loki awakens and places him back under mind control. Loki never awakens.

 

He had just found enough humanity in himself to feel guilty for longing for the last scenario when Lila returned to the room, carrying not only the medication, but her sleeping bag, pillow, stuffed unicorn, and coloring book. “What're you doing, sweetheart?”

 

She deposited the items on the other side of the bed and then started back out of the room. “I'm going to help you take care of Mr. Loki.” Her confident voice said from down hall.

 

Clint quickly stood, fumbling over his words. “ _Mister_ Lo— oh, and you've brought your brother.” He threw up his hands and let them fall as she strolled in with Nathaniel on her hip.

 

“Yep!” She sat her brother on the soft rug below the foot of the bed and scattered his toys for him. “We can take care of them together.”

 

“Great.” He nodded, one hand pulling at his short hair in frustration. “Just...Lila, you can't stay in here. He's—”

 

“Why won't you ever let me help?”

 

Lila was standing next to the vacant side of the bad, expression full of hurt and disappointment. Clint sighed. “You begged me to let you help with your brother. You’re already doing more for him than I am now. _This_ is different, Lila. You’re too little to understand.”  
  
“I just want to help, Daddy. Mommy always said I was her little helper but...” His resolve crumbled the moment the first tear rolled down her cheek. “I miss my Mommy, and I just want to _help_.”

 

“Okay, okay. Come here.” Clint lowered to a knee and opened his arms, scooping her up once she had reached him. His heart ached,knowing he could never fully understand _her_ pain. He had lost his wife. She had lost her mother. Different agony felt for the same person. “I’m sorry, peanut. I’m so, so sorry.” He let her cry, his gaze falling on Loki from over her little shoulder. The archer sighed. “Alright, you can help.” He held up a finger when she pulled back to smile at him. “But there are rules!”

 

“Okay.” She sniffled, ponytailed hair flipping wildly as she nodded.

 

Clint thought for a moment. The safety of his children came first. So, _how_ could he allow her to assist without putting her life in danger? He pointed to the god's secured wrist. “ _Never_ touch that.” Lila nodded as she finished wiping away tears. “If he wakes up, you get your brother and get out.”

 

Her little head tilted. “Isn't Mr. Loki your friend?”

 

 _Don't lie._ “You don't come in here without me.” Lila opened her mouth. He quickly derailed her objection. “ _Ever_.”

 

“Yes, Daddy.” There was a quick smile, an even quicker kiss on the cheek, and then she was off! Lila grabbed the medication and ran over to the bedside, lowering so that she was on eye level with the IV in Loki’s arm. She studied it so intently that Clint found himself crouching beside her.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Where do I pour it?”

 

_This is such a very bad idea._

 

* * *

 

A day passed without incident. Then two. Now, well into the third day, a routine had been developed. Lila had been a constant presence, even after he had finally convinced her that Loki did not need the red medicine she so hated. Once she had settled on the floor with her coloring book, Clint took the time to check on the patient. The last remaining bag of IV fluids was hanging. Any burns had smoothed over. The smaller cuts were all closed and nothing more than acute mars against pale skin. He could remove the stitches and was certain there would not even be scarring. Bruising below the neck was nearly nonexistent. That only left the matter of the trach tube. The swelling was down, the god’s breathing much less labored. _Remove it?_

 

Making sure the kids were occupied with a movie, he cut and pulled back the gauze. The bruising was nearly gone. So far, so good. With the medical supplies close by, he worked the tube free and quickly placed gauze over the wound when it began to bleed. He waited with bated breath, but in seconds, Loki took a deep, ragged breath, and Clint released the one he had been holding. He lifted the gauze, stitching needle ready, but Loki’s magic had already knitted most of the wound closed. He settled for the skin glue and a transparent bandage, so he could watch for any complications. As he pressed gently to seal the adhesive of the bandage, he noticed something else—the dislocated bone he had seen that day in the pharmacy was much less profound, as if it were moving back into place on its own.

 

“Huh.” He muttered, drawing a blanket up to Loki’s shoulders. He had seen a lot during his time with SHIELD.  He’d witnessed Tony’s suits upgraded and demolished but still able to fly him home. He’d seen Bruce twist and expand into a being three times his size and endure unspeakable things without so much as a scratch. Now he was playing nurse to an alien god who could apparently not only survive a shattered cervical spine, but repair it with healing magic.

 

“How’s Mr. Loki?” Lila asked from the floor. Clint craned his neck to see her and smiled when she met his gaze.

 

“He’s getting better.”

 

“I’m hungry.” She stood and began rummaging through her little bag of _everything under the sun_ for God knows what. Clint had taken to calling it the Mary Poppins bag as half of the things she fit in there made absolutely no sense. “I want Spaghettios. Do we still have Spaghettios?”

 

The archer glanced from Lila to Nathaniel—he toddler had fallen asleep on his blanket during the movie. He then looked to Loki, still unconscious. “Yeah,” he answered, with only the slightest hesitance in his tone. “We still have Spaghettios.” He pushed the chair back and stood, placing a hand on his daughter’s head in passing while she finally found the elusive item.

 

Lila didn’t question when he left the room. Instead, she took his chair and pushed it closer to the bed, twisting off the cap of the glass container she had fished out.

 

Loki’s hand was so much bigger than hers. She placed her fingers underneath his to somewhat straighten them, tongue peeking out every few moments as a testament to how deeply she was concentrating. She made sure each brush stroke of the neon green color went on smoothly and would blow softly over each nail as she finished.

 

Dedicated to her task, she remained unaware of the dull green eyes that had settled upon her.

 

 _This was the_ best _idea._

 

* * *

 

Clint was stirring a steaming bowl of Spaghettios when he heard his daughter shriek. Tumbling from his hands, the ceramic shattered in a mess of pasta and sauce, Clint drawing his gun before he even made it to the hallway. He stepped into the bedroom, sights trained on the figure still lying on the bed. _But what…?_

 

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’ll clean it!”

 

Frantic blue eyes crossed back and forth before down, finding Lila on the floor, attempting to clean up a mess of bright green liquid. The tiny, half empty jar sat next to her leg. His gaze rolled up to Loki’s hand, where all but the thumbnail having been painted. Relief washed over him so strongly that his knees threatened to buckle. He holstered his weapon and grabbed the doorframe. “It’s alright, peanut. What happened?”

 

“He moved.” She stated, simply. “I think he had a nightmare. His hand did this:” She jerked her little arm wildly for the briefest of moments and then let it fall.

 

 _Oh, thank God._ “I thought you were hurt.”

 

Lila giggled—why? It wasn’t funny—and rounded the bed to climb up. She placed herself on her knees next to Loki’s shoulder and smoothed back his hair soothingly. “It’s okay, Mr. Loki. Nightmares aren’t real. You don’t have to be afraid.”

 

He wanted to roll his eyes. In fact, inwardly, they were so far back in his head that the blue may never be seen again. On the outside, he smiled at her, allowing her to think she was giving Loki a measure of comfort. _He_ ** _is_** _the monster._ “Why don’t we let—” he grit his teeth, “ _Mr. Loki_ get some quiet time? I have to clean up in the kitchen and get your spaghettios.” Clint checked the bag of fluids while his daughter placed her stuffed unicorn just beside the god’s ribs.

 

“Alabaster will keep watch while you sleep, Mr. Loki. We’ll be back soon.”

 

* * *

 

Awareness was the first thing that came back. He couldn’t feel his body, though something told him that he should be grateful for small favors. Peaks and troughs of sound filtered through a sleep-fuddled brain, but over time, one voice became constant. Loki latched onto that voice like a lifeline, and in his moments of near-wakefulness, it brought him a warmth he hadn’t felt in hundreds of years.

 

_“Mr. Loki, I sure wish you’d wake up.”_

 

She would speak words of encouragement in hushed tones. In fact, she would usually be in the middle of speaking when he would become of aware of her and continued until he was again lost in the nothingness. Still, she seemed to always be there with her gentle resonance when he would find his way back. 

 

\-----                                                                                                                  

 

_“I’m going to read you my favorite book. It’s called ‘Where the Wild Things Are.’”_

 

She had begun to read to him the third time he came around and must have read this story a dozen times since then. Even in his half conscious state, he could see his mind displaying the words in a marquee behind his eyelids.

 

_“The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind and another his mother called him “WILD THING!” and Max said “I’LL EAT YOU UP!” so he was sent to bed without eating anything.”_

 

He faded out to her voice.

 

\-----

 

When he was next aware, sensation had returned. First it was a tingling, followed by a dull throb that radiated from his neck. His right arm was alive with pain but felt oddly absent. He couldn’t remember being injured, and when he chased the memories, they fled to hide behind the soothing words of the little voice, and he would soon forget he had ever desired to know.

 

_“This will make your head feel better, but it’s a little cold, so don’t be scared. It’ll only feel bad for a second.”_

 

His head did ache that particular instance and he felt overheated. The coolness of the cloth placed upon his brow earned an inward sigh of relief and he allowed himself to be dragged back into a fitful level of unconsciousness. He knew she’d be there when he came back.

 

\-----

 

_“Mommy always sang when I felt bad. Can I sing to you, Mr. Loki?”_

 

Loki did like it when she would sing. It was then that he was able to find complete rest without the lingering ache and anxiety. Little fingers would march up his arm to the tune of something called _The Itsy Bitsy Spider_. He could never make sense of singing about an insect but he would blame that on his lack of clarity and consciousness. 

 

\-----

 

He could have sworn that he had even _seen_ her once. Or was that simply a delusion? The image was cloudy, blurred edges and blotches of color. She was sitting at his side, small and fragile, yet a presence so powerful that she could coax a god from a state of fitful unconscious. He thought he had tried to reach for her but the memory wasn’t clear and the darkness was calling.

 

\-----

 

_“Alabaster really likes you, so I’ll let him stay with you when I’m not here, okay?”_

 

Ah, the other voice. Loki was _not_ a fan of Alabaster. Though it would begin as a pleasant presence tucked against his side, dulling the throb of his not-there arm, but then the presence spoke.

 

_“If only she knew what you really are— the things you’ve done—she would be just as hesitant to let you live as I am.”_

 

He wanted to growl. He wanted to wake his silver tongue to verbally strike down this serpent that sat so closely to his little sentry. Not just verbally. He itched to summon a dagger and cut out Alabaster’s heart. He would offer it to the little one to do with as she saw fit, but at least she would be safe.

 

Safe.

 

Not safe.

 

He was not safe.

 

 _No one_ was safe.

 

Images reared from the shadows of his subconscious, flashes of moving pictures that he immediately recognized as the suppressed memories he had been chasing.

 

Thor. The void. The Other. Thanos. The Black Order. Thor. The Avengers. Jane Foster. Infinity Stones. Frigga. The Kursed. Thor. Odin. Hela. Sakaar. Ragnarok. Thor.

 

_No._

 

Thanos. The Infinity Gauntlet. Thor. He felt his blood vessels bursting, blood crawling up his throat. Thor. He could taste the copper. The pressure was too much. It _hurt_. Thor.

 

Thor.

 

_Thor!_

 

Thor was screaming. The sound distorted and twisted, increasing in pitch. No, not Thor. It wasn’t Thor.

 

He felt his magic surge to life, slithering from the very depths of his core to pour outward through his skin.

 

His little sentry. His Wild Thing. She _was not_ safe.

 

And Loki would _not_ allow that.

 

* * *

 

“Look at me, Lila. Daddy’s right here.” Clint lowered to a crouch, placing his gun and bow on the floor. Lila was standing in front of the mantle, her brother sitting on a blanket just behind her. Both were crying and trembling. “Whatever it is you want, take it. Just take it and go.”

 

“Daddy!”

 

Two men and a woman stood between father and children, looking rough and rugged and not at all into negotiations. Still, Clint had to try. Their guns were aimed at his kids.

 

“There is money. In a safe. In my bedroom. It’s yours.”

 

“What good is money anymore?” The woman scoffed, looking at her nails as if she would rather be doing anything else. Her dark hair was shaved on the right side while the left hung to her shoulder. Scars littered the tanned skin of her face and neck and it did not take Clint long to notice her prosthetic left leg.

 

“Then what _do_ you want?” He forced out, fighting back his rage. The children were still crying, reaching for him.

 

“I think we’ll take the house.” She nodded and looked around as if appraising their new property, the men snickering behind her. “And the land. And pretty much everything else.”

 

“Fine. Take it. Just let us go. Let _them_ go.”

 

“Ah, but there lies the problem.” The woman ran her dirty fingers along Lila’s red, wet cheek. When Clint took a step, she pulled a gun from the back of her jeans to aim at him. “Killing is _just too much fun_.”

 

The grin she sported made the hairs on the back of the archer’s neck rise.

 

They were going to murder his children. After all they had survived, he had let his guard down in favor of helping a war criminal, and they had snuck past the defences. And now his children would suffer the consequences for _his_ failure.

 

When all three guns were pointed at Lila and Nathaniel, Clint quickly spoke. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. Look at Daddy. I’m right here.” His eyes flickered up to the two jars on the mantle. _Oh, God, Laura, I’m so sorry._ Lila continued to cry for him but he tried to smile. He couldn’t let their last moments be full of fear. “I’m right here, babies.”

 

Three guns fired in quick succession.

 

Clint screamed and crumbled to this knees, hand reaching toward his children. He hadn’t meant to close his eyes: only cowards closed their eyes. He felt the heat of his tears on his cheeks, the ache in his heart. He felt the weight of his failure like a rock in his gut.

 

“What the _fuck_?”

 

The woman’s tone was enough to bring him to his senses. Clint opened his eyes and lost his breath. Lila was still standing. Nathaniel was still on his blanket. There was no blood.

 

There were, however, three very real bullets suspended in air just in front of Lila’s face.

 

No one was moving. The room was so silent that Clint was certain they all could hear his heart hammering away behind his ribs. Breaking through the silence was the most unexpected sound: a giggle.

 

The archer furrowed his brow and regarded his daughter. She was wiping at her eyes and smiling, bright and toothy.

 

“Hi, Mr. Loki.”

 

Clint’s heart went still. His eyes rolled over toward the doorway of his bedroom where the god stood. He was in only his leather trousers and boots, upper body bare and tense. His fingers were flexing in and out of fists at his sides. What startled Clint the most was the unnatural green glow that radiated from Loki’s eyes. It reminded him of Thor’s lightning, emerald sparks inching across his skin to lick and spit at the air around him.

 

Even without the ability to follow the god’s line of sight, it was not hard to figure out that he was staring intently at the bullets. It was only then that Clint could see the magic surrounding the projectiles. The archer looked to his discarded weapon, ready strike while the scavengers were occupied.

 

Then one of the nameless bastards made the mistake of addressing the God of Mischief.

 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?”

 

Loki’s eyes remained on the bullets for a split second longer. There was only the slightest twitch of his chin to indicate his change of focus. The moment he looked toward the intruders, the bullets reversed and there were three solid _thuds_ as each enemy received one fatal wound between the eyes.

 

Clint watched the bodies fall before he crossed the room and picked up Nathaniel and pulled Lila into his chest. “Are you okay? Nothing hit you?” He sat down the baby and began to frantically look under his clothes. When he found no sign of injury, he turned to Lila, who laughed at every movement.

 

“I’m fine, daddy. Mr. Loki saved us.”

 

 _Right._ He reluctantly looked to the god in the doorway. “I suppose I should thank you.” Loki’s eyes had faded back to their normal emerald, his lithe form trembling. His chest heaved for breath as if the battle had been physical and lengthy. His gaze was still where the intruders had stood, vacant and glazed. “Loki?”

 

“Mr. Loki, are you okay?”

 

He reacted then, eyes sliding over to focus on Lila… before promptly rolling back into his head as he lurched forward. Clint was quick, arms out as leapt from his perch beside the kids. He barely made it in time to stop Loki’s descent, catching the man underneath one arm. The archer carefully lowered him to the floor and placed two fingers to the side of his neck, finding his thready pulse rather easily. He knew Lila was watching and nodded with a forced smile.

 

“He’s okay.”

 

Clint could tell that Loki was already coming around as he dragged the heavy god back to the bed. The snapped zip-tie dangled from the headboard as a reminder of how foolish it was to think _that_ could hold Loki at even his weakest. He halfway laid the taller man down before moving to lift his legs onto the mattress as well. Just as the archer plopped into the chair, Loki’s face scrunched up and he opened his eyes, albeit slowly.

 

“Welcome back.” Clint offered dryly, catching Lila walking in with Nathaniel on her hip in his peripheral. He held out a hand to hinder her entrance, leaving her watching from just within the doorway.

 

Loki seemed to just now take in his surroundings. Apparently his first arrival into consciousness was abrupt and immediately followed by snapping the zip-tie and ripping out the IV. Dried blood still decorated his arm over flawless, pale skin. Clint noted the careful way in which the god pushed himself into a sitting position, resting against the headboard with his eyes closed once he had achieved his goal. It was painfully obvious he was trying not to move his neck. The smaller wounds may have healed quickly, but it appeared to take much longer to knit a spinal cord back together.

 

Regardless, Clint was quick to cut to the chase. “Why are you here, Loki?”

 

Pale green eyes opened and settled on him, wary and tired. Yet, Loki didn’t speak. His eyes lowered to the gun holstered on Clint’s thigh before rolling back up to his face. When Lila shuffled in the background, Loki’s eyes shifted to her and his entire demeanor changed. The tension in his muscles bled away, his fists unclenching to allow his palms to relax on his thighs.

 

“Hey!” Clint snapped his fingers in front of the god’s face, earning a vicious snarl but surprisingly nothing more. “Look at _me_ , not at them! They’ve got nothing to do with this.” The logical part of Clint’s brain was screaming at him that Loki could tear him apart with a flick of his wrist. So, why wasn’t he? Had Loki really changed _that_ much? “I’ll ask you again: why are you here?”

 

Loki remained stubbornly silent.

 

“Daddy, I know what he needs.”

 

Lila deposited Nathaniel on the floor next to his scattered toys and rounded to the other side of the bed. Clint immediately tensed and moved to sit on the edge of the chair.

 

“Lila, sweetie, you need to—”

 

She was already on the bed and crawling towards where Loki sat, grabbing up the stuffed unicorn that had been cast aside when he had awoken. “Here. Alabaster can help you not be afraid.”

 

The look that Loki gave the plush toy was nothing short of comical, especially given the inability to turn his head. Green eyes widened, jaw hanging open only to snap shut with a _click_ of his teeth. He quickly looked back and forth between the offered unicorn and Clint, before rolling his eyes and bringing a hand to cover his face. _You utter dolt,_ his mind chided. Loki continued to look utterly exasperated. He dropped his hand back to his lap while Lila tucked the unicorn next to his hip. With a gentle smile, she sat back on her heels, looking very proud of herself. Clint, on the other hand, held a shaking hand over the gun at his side. Loki sighed.

 

_‘I won’t harm her.’_

 

Clint stumbled out of the chair, a hand to the side of his head. His expression held a barely contained fury, nostrils flaring and skin flushing red. His heart was racing, blood pounding in his ears. That voice in his head. He could _feel_ the way his mind had crumbled under Loki’s thrall as if it were happening all over again. Licking his lips, he steadied himself, but Loki could still see the tremble in his hands.

 

“Lila, take your brother and go to your room.” His tone was low, threatening but both men knew it wasn’t Lila that should be concerned.

 

“But Daddy—”

 

“ _Now_ , Lila!”

 

She flinched, lip quivering as she climbed off the mattress. Clint never took his eyes off Loki’s face, the god glaring right back with fists once again clenched. Wiping her eyes before scooping up her brother, Lila scurried toward the door. “I’ll see you later, Mr. Loki.”

 

“Don’t count on it.” Clint hissed, too low for her to hear. The way Loki's shoulders drew up, he was _sure_ the god had heard.

 

With the children now out of the room, Clint could feel the air change. That vibrating static from the pharmacy was now at a level that made the hairs on his tattooed arm rise. He kept his hand on his gun, but Loki showed no sign of moving.

 

“Stay out of my head.” Clint warned through clenched teeth.

 

 _‘I would_ — _gladly_ — _if it weren’t my only current means of communication.’_

 

The glaring match continued, neither man indicating an intent to attack. Clint narrowed his eyes when he noticed the thin sheen of sweat on Loki’s brow. There was a twitch of a dark eyebrow, a sign that what the god was doing was taking a toll on him.

 

“Why should I trust anything you say?”

 

 _‘If I had wanted you dead, I would have allowed the vermin to finish their endeavor before I killed them.’_ Loki visibly shuddered but maintained his fierce gaze. _‘If I had wanted and was able to control your mind, I would have done so already.’_

 

Clint’s brow wrinkled. Loki appeared to only be preparing to defend himself. He wasn’t attacking. After a heartbeat, the former agent moved his hand up from the gun and flattened his palm to show his withdrawal. The heavy atmosphere collapsed, and he sucked in a breath when the thrum of Loki’s magic fizzled out and the god relaxed.

 

“I still don’t trust you.” Clint muttered as he pulled the chair a little further from the bed and spun it around to sit backwards, folding his arms over the top. He watched stoically as Loki panted in an attempt to regain control, his frame trembling. After several tense, silent moments, it was the god that broke the silence, so to speak.

 

_‘Is she your daughter?’_

 

“You don’t get to talk about her.” Clint answered quickly. “Why are you here?”

 

_‘If you don’t know how I arrived here, then I’m afraid we are at an impasse.’_

 

The archer regarded Loki with an intense caution. “Okay, so you don’t remember crash landing in the town supermarket.” It was more of a statement but Loki addressed it anyway.

 

_‘I do not.’_

 

“What _do_ you remember?” Clint watched about twelve different emotions cross Loki’s face before he regained his mask of indifference.

 

_‘Dying.’_

 

“Well, that obviously _didn’t_ happen. You’re welcome, by the way.”

 

Loki curled his lip for a split second. _‘I was_ **dead** _, Hawk. I felt my soul leave my body only to hover in a darkness I could not escape.’_ He took a shaky breath, eyes losing focus as he continued. _‘Even as I felt the pull of Valhalla, something held me back. I was bound for paradise, even after all I’ve done.’_ A look of disdain, and then he closed his eyes. _‘Peace was within my grasp and then ripped away.’_

 

Clint didn’t react, though questions were racing through his mind at lightspeed. He settled on one. “What happened, Loki?”

 

Green eyes opened, his expression darkening. _‘Thanos.’_

 

“Who is Thanos?”

 

There was a moment when Loki appeared ready to answer but then he withdrew, eyes widening. _‘Where is Thor?’_

 

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Clint straightened in the chair and dropped his hands to hold onto the sides. “I’ve been out of commission. Phones barely work. There was some talk of a war, but I never got any details from anyone. Then people started turning to dust and—” It was Clint’s turn to lose focus but Loki’s next statement brought him back.

 

 _‘So, he won.’_ There was a despair in the god’s eyes that settled uncomfortably in the archer’s chest. He could only watch as Loki shifted to sit up, cross-legged. _‘Come here.’_

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. _‘Showing you is easier than telling you.’_

 

Clint deadpanned. “And how exactly would you _show_ me?” The sly smile that adorned the trickster’s face was all the answer he needed. “No. No, no, no.”

 

_‘We’ve had this discussion, Hawk. I do not intend to enslave your mind. I have no purpose to serve where doing so would benefit me. It would be a waste of effort and quite truthfully, a waste of my precious reserves.’_

 

Another, less intense, glaring contest began and soon, Clint was standing to drag his chair over to Loki’s bedside. He placed it down much rougher than necessary and plopped onto it with all the grace of a five year old in the midst of a tantrum. Loki would have shaken his head, but settled for clicking his tongue.

 

_‘Stop being petulant. I have no intention of harming you.’_

 

“Somehow, I find that less than comforting.” Clint snapped back.

 

Loki rolled his eyes. _‘Just relax and be still.’_  He placed a clammy palm to Clint’s forehead and closed his eyes. _‘I’ve never tried this on a human before.’_

 

_“What?!”_

 

* * *

 

Half an hour later, Loki was lying on his back with an arm draped over his eyes. The pallor to his skin, the constant trembling, and way he clutched his stomach would have been cause for concern to Clint— had he not been heaving in the rubbish bin since the process had completed fifteen minutes prior.

 

The transfer of memories had been an assault on the archer’s psyche. It was like reliving Loki’s past. There was both pain and happiness, though one drastically outweighed the other. There were some memories that would begin and be yanked away, almost painfully, as if it had been a slip of control and not meant to be shared. Once Loki had pried his palm from Clint’s brow, he had collapsed backward onto the bed while Clint had to sort through his new knowledge of Thanos, infinity stones, and Ragnarok, as well as Loki’s final moments. There were also small depictions of torture and triumph, but what stood out most was a woman, kind in demeanor and royal in attire. Her golden hair piled atop her head, her elegant gown shimmering as she always reached out a hand. He had seen her after every tragic moment, as if she had been the glue to keep the god from somewhat shattering. Only glimpses. Loki had been quick to tear those away. Then she was absent, along with that sense of calm after something traumatic.

 

Stomach empty, Clint pulled himself back onto the chair and slapped the side of Loki’s leg. The god grunted but made no move to sit up. That is how they stayed for the next hour. Loki finally made it back to a sitting position against the headboard while Clint stared blankly at his own hands, rubbing idly over his thighs. He was certain Loki hadn’t shared everything, but there had been enough.

 

He now knew Loki had been under the influence of the same stone he had used on Clint himself. Though Clint had been made into a thrall, Loki’s emotions had been manipulated, his memories twisted. He acted out of misplaced anger and sadness toward conjured memories. The god had moments of clarity only to be pulled back under. It was different from the control on Clint but it made Loki no less a puppet.

 

It had been strange to see himself in Loki’s memories. His time under the god’s command was fuzzy at best, but he could see things clearly in the nightmares that still plagued him to this day. He vaguely remembered that first night after finding a safe place to set up their base of operations, he had information to report but was unable to find Loki. He located him in one of the tunnels, alone and slumped against the wall, scepter in hand. His head had been hanging with his hair shadowing any view of his face.

 

“Boss?” He had said, lowering to one knee at Loki’s side.

 

“Leave me, Hawk.” The god had replied, his voice strained. He had moved then, placing his head back against the wall. He was pale and sweaty, looking every bit as if he were on death’s doorstep and _not_ leading a team of scientists and soldiers into some conquest against earth.

 

Clint had left as commanded but returned shortly thereafter with a steaming bowl of soup, two bottles of water, and a blanket. Loki had opened one eye to a sliver when his name was called but then closed it.

 

“Boss, you need to eat and rest.” When Loki had regarded Clint again, it had been with an expression he hadn’t expected. One of pure surprise. The archer could have sworn he saw a tear before Loki shifted his mask back in place.

 

“Fine. Now go bother someone else until I have need of you.”

 

Back in the present, Clint shook his head and focused his gaze back on Loki. They continued to sit in silence until the archer cleared his throat.

 

“She is my daughter.” He didn’t meet Loki’s eyes but could feel when they shifted toward him. “Her name is Lila. My son is Nathaniel.” The god made a noncommittal noise before Clint continued. “Thank you...for saving them.”

 

_‘She kept watch over me while I recovered. It was my turn to watch over her.’_

 

“I see.” Clint still avoided Loki’s gaze, eyes glued to the floor. “Would you have still saved her if you knew she was mine?”

 

_‘She’s a child, Hawk. It matters not who sired her.’_

 

“Right.” Clint honestly wasn’t sure how to respond. Though he had seen the mask slip during his time as a war criminal puppet, he still couldn’t fathom that _this_ could be the same man. With nothing to add, Clint stood and headed for the door. He paused, not looking back as he spoke. “Please don’t get inside her head.”

 

There was no answer as he left to check on the children.

 

* * *

 

Clint slept with Lila and Nathaniel that night instead of on the couch. He had them sitting on the porch until well after midnight while he had buried the three intruders in a single shallow grave to the left of the house. He could deal with it properly later.

 

Though Loki had thus far shown no aggression, he was still not worthy of trust in the archer’s opinion. The sunlight that crept into the window found Clint already awake and staring at the ceiling. It all still felt unreal, these new memories. He knew now who was responsible for Laura and Cooper. He had a face and a name.

 

Yet, he could do nothing.

 

Lila and Nathaniel were still alive and needed him. Furthermore, there had been no news regarding this titan. If he had been defeated, things should be changing. SHIELD would have contacted. If there was still a war to fight, surely _someone_ would have come to him. But no word. No change. Perhaps Loki was correct in his assumption.

 

Thanos had won.

 

Perhaps all the Avengers were dead. _I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Nat._ The titan had killed them and wiped out half the universe and now, there were not enough soldiers to fight the war. Only handfuls of small battalions that helped keep people alive. It was a grim notion that he had no choice but to currently accept as fact.

 

His eyes slid over to the door for what felt to be the millionth time. Though there seemed to be some sort of cease fire between the archer and the god, Clint could not help but expect Loki to burst through the door and attempt to murder them in their sleep. His feelings were askew at best. He had witnessed so much despair in those green orbs. His foggy memories had been made clear. His own knowledge combined with what Thor had revealed, how could he _not_ sympathize with Loki at this point?

 

Finally coming to terms with the fact that there would be no sleep for him, Clint carefully rolled out of bed and pulled on his shirt. He secured the holster to his thigh before collecting the gun from the nightstand. Lila and Nathaniel slept through the blankets being pulled back over them and their father kissing them both on the brow. He then slipped quietly into the hall, pulling the door closed as slowly and quietly as possible.

 

Coffee on the brain, he started toward the kitchen. He could check on Loki as he passed. As luck would have it, he didn’t need to worry about that. He heard the water running in the bathroom and saw the light under the door. Clint paused, expression neutral though he was surprised. The door opened to a disheveled God of Mischief, but he had apparently changed clothing. He adorned loose black lounge pants and a green wrap tunic while his feet were bare. Loki flipped off the light before catching Barton’s gaze. An eyebrow raised.

 

“Hawk.” Ah, he could speak again, albeit gravelly.

 

“Loki.”

 

Awkward. “Is there something you wish to say?”

 

“What were you doing?”

 

Loki turned to look into the bathroom and then back to his interrogator. “What does one normally do in a privy first thing in the morning?”

 

“I see.”

 

The god dragged a hand down his face. “Would you like me to fetch you next time so you can assure I create no mischief such as forgetting to wash my hands?”

 

Clint watched Loki’s jaw tick. He was irritated but said nothing more and appeared to be awaiting a retort. The archer sighed. “Sorry, man. Just… it’s hard to see you as anything other than a crazy war criminal. No offense.”

 

Loki flicked a hand nonchalantly to show he took none and began walking back toward the bedroom as Clint entered the bathroom.

 

The door was halfway closed before he jerked it open and stepped back out. “Loki.” The sorcerer didn’t answer but did stop, casting a sideways gaze over his shoulder. “You’re looking better.” _Will you be leaving soon?_

 

“I am nearly healed, yes. I will be gone from here soon enough.”

 

Silence engulfed them before Loki disappeared into the bedroom and Clint stepped back into the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

“Daddy, why can’t I go say hi to Mr. Loki?” Lila spoke around a mouthful of cereal, fidgeting on her knees at the table.

 

“Because he’s still feeling pretty bad and needs to rest.” He answered. He stirred the oatmeal, tapping the first spoonful to his own lips to ensure it was cool enough for his son to eat. “Here you go, little man.” Once the bowl was on the tray of the highchair, Nathaniel had the spoon in hand, swinging it wildly. Clint sighed as oatmeal painted the refrigerator and cabinets but thus was parenthood. “Making sure I stay busy, huh, bud?” He tousled the little one’s hair and turned to open the cupboard and grab a mug. As he poured his coffee, he could feel the air in the room change. Before he could look over his shoulder—

 

“Hi, Mr. Loki! Look, Daddy, he’s feeling better!”

 

Loki stood in the doorway, silent while his right hand picked at the palm of his left. His green eyes fell on Lila’s bright face and Clint could have sworn he saw the corner of the god’s mouth twitch into something approaching a smile. It was gone in an instant and Loki looked back to him. “Hawk, I—”

 

“Clint.” The archer corrected, tilting his mug to his lips for a long gulp of black coffee. ‘Hawk’ would lead to a million questions from Lila that were all destined for heartbreaking answers.

 

Loki seemed to turn the name over his head before he countered with “Barton.”

 

 _I’ll take it._ “Why don’t you have some coffee?” Clint nodded toward a seat at the table. Loki considered it silently but didn’t budge from the doorway. Instead, stared at the table with a vacant expression, fingertips touching the clear bandage on his throat. The incision was closed and scabbed, but still not healed. Was Loki’s magic still working on him from the inside? “Loki.” He called. When he still received no response, he tried again, a bit more forceful. “Loki.” The god flinched but finally seemed to give Clint his attention. “Sit down. Have coffee.”

 

“Do you want some cereal?” Lila added before emptying another spoonful into her mouth. “It’s yummy!”

 

Loki didn’t answer but he did sit down, not at all in the proper, straight-back royal way Clint would have envisioned. He sank into the chair and bowed over the table, elbow resting on the surface so he could place his forehead against his palm. If Lila was offended by his silence, she didn’t show it and simply continued to wiggle happily in her seat while enjoying her breakfast.

 

Clint watched Loki over the rim of his mug. He knew the god was coming in to say his goodbyes and was honestly surprised that he was offering that much to them. He had wagered after that morning that Loki would simply disappear. The archer’s blue eyes narrowed. Loki may have changed but he had not grown so lax that a mortal child could keep him bound to one place.

 

Loki remained as he was until a cup of dark, steaming liquid was pushed in front of him. He sat back a bit, staring at the offering before his gaze flicked up to Clint. He sniffed the mug curiously, earning a giggle from his left. The aroma was not unpleasant.  “What is this?”

 

“Coffee.” Clint answered with his own tilted to his lips, his voice reverberating in the nearly empty mug. “Careful.” He warned when Loki made to pick it up. “It’s hot.”

 

“I can _see_ that. I’m not an idiot.”

 

“ _Yeah_ , Daddy! He’s _not_ an idiot!” Lila echoed with her hands on her hips, sassy attitude flaring with her impressive British accent.

 

Loki glanced quickly at the child as he lifted the cup, hiding his smirk behind it when his gaze shifted back to Clint. He _did_ heed the warning, carefully allowing a safe amount of the liquid onto his tongue. He jerked the mug away, face twisting but not from the temperature. “That is horrible.” The bitter taste remained for several long moments before leaving an aftertaste that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Still, it was not enough to cajole him into another sip.

 

Clint chuckled. “I guess it’s not for everyone. You could try some sugar?”

 

Loki was glaring at the cup as if it were bound to attack. “I am not certain any form of confectionery could salvage this disaster.”

 

Lila swallowed another bite of cereal and pushed the bowl aside so she could lean forward onto her elbows. “Mommy always put milk in hers.”

 

“Perhaps I should ask for her aid in this endeavor instead.” The air in the room changed, shifting with a weight that settled uncomfortably in Loki’s chest. Wild Thing’s gaze had dropped to her fidgeting hands while Clint stared out the kitchen window. Loki knew that look. “I—”

 

“It was Thanos.” Clint stated matter-of-factly, grip tightening around his empty coffee mug. “My oldest son too.”

 

Loki sat in silence, slumped in the chair and head down. There was nothing he could say to alleviate their pain, especially when he wasn’t sure he even _cared_ . A sniffle to his left drew his sidelong gaze toward Lila. One look at her and he knew he cared. He didn’t know _why_. He was perfectly capable of being grateful without attachment.

 

So what now? Should he apologize? For the death of their loved ones? For his part in the execution of Thanos’ plot? With all his wisdom and knowledge and even his experience in regret, he was at a loss. Sentiment had never been Loki’s forte. Even still, the silence was grating on his nerves. Perhaps it was time to teach them how to _use_ their pain. Loki opened his mouth, carefully plotted words on the tip of his tongue, when Nathaniel decided that the situation required something much less drastic.

 

The oatmeal sailed impressively across the table to splatter directly across Loki’s face, from his left eyebrow to his right jaw. The perpetrator banged his spoon against the top of his highchair, screeching wildly. Lila sat back in her chair with her hands over her mouth, little form trembling with the barely contained giggling. Clint’s blue eyes were comically wide but even he settled to hide his face behind his mug. Loki hadn’t moved, eyes closed and jaw ticking.

 

“I’ll get you a towel, Mr. Loki.” Lila climbed down from her chair and rain toward the cupboard, pulling open a drawer.

 

Clint’s shoulders were shaking with laughter, continuing even after he saw the twitch in Loki’s right eye. “Loki, man, I’m sorry, but… kids, you know.”

 

No, Loki did not know. He had never spent much time in the company of children. He didn’t even necessarily _like_ children. He simply tolerated them. He bit the inside of his jaw in restraint and nodded, the initial upset draining when he set his one eye on Lila, who was offering him a hand towel. “This is why smarter species eat their young.” He quipped as he wiped his face, not missing the icy glare from Clint. Lila’s jaw dropped and she opened her mouth but Clint was quick.

 

“He’s joking, Lila.” Clint clicked the mechanisms that released the tray from the highchair and hoisted his son up onto his hip, eyes still on Loki. “You’re joking, right?”

 

“He’d taste terrible.” His lip twitched into an almost indecipherable smile that disappeared just as quickly.

 

“See? He’s joking.” Clint concluded, a gentle hand on Lila’s head.

 

Wild Thing gave Loki a _very_ unfavorable look. “ _Not_ funny, Mr. Loki.”

 

“It was a little funny.” Loki answered, shrugging one shoulder.

 

“Lila, can you take your brother to the bathroom and start cleaning him up? I’ll be there in a minute.” Clint handed off the toddler and Lila turned to leave the room, but not before looking to Loki, two fingers pointing at her eyes before her hand turned to point at him. He was sure to keep his head down to hide his barely-there smile. “So,” Clint began, “you’re still here.” The archer grabbed a washcloth from the sink and wet it, wringing out the excess before he turned to wipe down the highchair.

 

“I _am_? I had no idea.”

 

Clint paused, gaze lifting toward Loki. He obviously wasn’t appreciative of the sarcasm. “I thought you’d be gone the moment you were recovered.”

 

Loki watched him quietly, pulling at loose threads on the hand towel. “So did I.”

 

Clint actually stopped this time and turned to sit opposite of Loki. “What’s stopping you?”

 

It was Loki’s turn to stare up and out the window, his brow furrowing. The despair Clint had seen in those green orbs was there again. “Where is left for me go?”  Loki looked so incredibly lost; an expression Clint recognized from the few times he had looked in a mirror since he had watched Laura and Cooper disappear. “Asgard is gone. My brother is likely dead. To the best of my knowledge, Midgard is still rather intent to secure me in a cell. I have no purpose. I fear I may have been better off had you left me in that debris, Hawk.”

 

Clint flinched.

 

_Dark brows were drawn and arched, mouth hanging open silently. Clint was not sure Loki was seeing anything at all. Gray lips opened and closed, working without sound to form a single word:_

 

_‘No.’_

 

“Giving up isn’t the answer here, Loki.”

 

“Is it truly giving up if one was already dead?” Loki’s gaze finally left the window but stayed lowered. He placed the towel on the table and slumped in the chair. “I am not meant to be here, yet I am. _Why_?”

 

“I don’t know the answer to that.” If Loki’s shoulders could have sagged lower, Clint was certain they would have. “Look, I don’t know why we’re still here but there _has_ to be a reason.” The god just seemed to continue shutting down, retreating into himself. Clint pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d have to try a different tactic. “You can stay here.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Until you figure things out.” Clint stood and pick up Loki’s discarded mug, casually drinking from the other side. “You can stay here with us. It’ll be nice to have a bit of help from someone over four feet tall.” He paused before the next swig. “You don’t have alien STD’s or anything, right?” Loki cast him a look of mild annoyance, presumably because he had no idea what Clint was talking about. “I’m not.... _thrilled_ . I _still_ don’t trust you.” Loki was still watching him stoically. “But I know what it’s like to not know which direction your next step should be in. I had two little people giving me that extra push that I needed when all I wanted to do was lay down and die. Maybe— maybe we can help you with that. Be that push for you.”

 

“Why, pray tell, would you do that?”

 

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

 

Loki scoffed. “Foolish. Your moral compass is in desperate need of calibration, Hawk.” Loki tilted his head, a strange look on his face, though he wasn’t looking at Clint.

 

 _Did he just—_ “Okay, look, you don’t have to accept the offer but you don’t have to be—”

 

“Quiet!” Loki hissed. Clint quickly stopped talking. “Do you not hear that?”

 

Now that they were silent, his hearing aid picked it up and he _could_ hear it. A series of lengthy buzzes, lasting about three seconds each. It would repeat several times and then go silent before restarting mere heartbeats later.

 

God and archer looked at each other before Loki rose from his chair and Clint placed the mug on the counter. They walked side by side, Loki’s head tilted as he followed the sound. When they passed, the bathroom, Clint peeked inside to see Lila giving Nathaniel a bath, eagerly ushering more toys into water. The pair stopped outside the door of the master bedroom, pulled closed from when Loki had earlier emerged. He glanced at Clint before turning the knob and pushing the door inward.

 

The room seemed normal and empty as both gazes swept over it. Clint lifted his hand from his gun holster and stepped inside, followed by Loki. The buzzing continued and both men followed, noticing the culprit at the same time.

 

Clint’s cell was lying on the nightstand, screen lit and bouncing with each ring. The two looked at one another again when they saw the name on the screen:

  
  
‘ _Steve Rogers’_

 

* * *

 

It had been three days since the call. Clint needed time to gather everything needed for his children and deliver them to Pepper in New York. It was a relief to find out who had survived. He smiled, waiting patiently at the rendezvous point. It had been important to meet them away from Pepper and the children, especially given his sentence and the fugitive status of his comrades. However, they all had doubted any of that matter now. _Better safe than sorry._

 

He barely heard the ship before he saw it. Wakandan technology, he assumed. It lowered to land, powering down before the hatch opened. Six figures stood within the shadow of the ship’s interior but he would know those silhouettes anywhere. Natasha was the first to reach him, not even remotely embarrassed by how fast she had ran to throw her arms around his neck.

 

“Oh, God, Clint. It’s so good to see you.” She held him at arm’s length, expression tight. “I’m sorry.” He knew what she meant. He had told Steve over the phone. They didn’t dwell on it. She stepped aside, hold lingering on his hand for just a moment longer.

 

“Cap.” He smiled and held out a hand. Steve walked through it and pulled the archer into an embrace. He wasn’t that surprised. Steve always had been one for tender moments.

 

“Glad to have you back,” Steve said with a smile.

 

“Hey, Legolas. Long time, no see.” Tony looked different. Even more withdrawn than he had seen him in previous meetings. There was a shadow behind his eyes that made Clint uneasy. He could only hope this venture didn’t end in Tony pulling some self-sacrificial redeeming bullshit.

 

Bruce simply tossed up a hand with a quick ‘hey’, ever the social butterfly. Thor was the last to approach. What started as a handshake transitioned into a semi-embrace, the thunder god pulling him in to throw one arm around him and pat his back.

 

“It’s good to see you, my friend.”

 

“Likewise,” Clint laughed. Oh, Thor really had _no_ idea.

 

“ _Well_!” Tony clapped, throwing his arms in a circular motion before stopping to point toward the jet. “Now that the gang’s all here, we should—”

 

“Just a second.” Clint scratched the back of his head. Wouldn’t it have just been easier to have had Loki with him all along? Shaking his head, he remembered just exactly who he was talking about. Loki loved dramatic. “I was thinking that we could use all the help we can get.” He took a steadying breath. “I’m gonna need for everyone to be real calm, okay?”

 

That, of course, was everyone’s cue to tense up.

 

Natasha’s gaze grew guarded. “What are you talking about?”

 

“Well,” Clint started, “I brought back up.”

 

“Who?” Bruce piped up, arms crossed.

 

“Me.”

 

The group spun around in unison to find Loki standing between them and the jet. He was in his armor — as if Clint had never shredded it in the first place —cape whipping about at his back. Of course, he wore a bored expression, arms crossed and feet slightly apart. Clint even wanted to slap him.

 

“Rock of Ages!” Tony exclaimed in feigned excitement. “It’s been a minute.”

 

Exclamations were all around and Clint stepped in to answer some questions, nodding toward the two brothers intensely staring one another down. Thor’s chest was heaving, as if he couldn’t draw in enough air, while the great axe visibly trembled in his grip. Loki had lowered his arms, fingers flexing. There was thunder in the distance.

 

“Loki, so help me, if you tell me this was another trick, I swear to the Nine I will—” He had taken a step forward and Loki had widened his stance.

 

“You’ll what?” Loki brandished his trickster grin. “Kill me? That would be a tad redundant, don’t you think?”

 

“I’m in no mood for your jokes!”

 

“Pity. I have several. I’ve thought of most of them just now and they regard that ghastly thing you’ve placed in your eye socket.”

 

“Enough!” Thor roared, a single bolt of lightning striking the ground only feet from where the dark-haired god stood. The onlookers flinched, while Loki merely raised an eyebrow. “I watched you die, _again_ , Loki, I watched you die!”

 

“And I _felt_ it, Thor!” Loki snapped back, green wisps licking the air at his fingertips. Thor’s breath hitched, StormBreaker’s handle dropping ever so slightly. “I felt the blood pool in my head while I struggled for a single breath. I _felt_ the bones give under the gauntlet.” His hand went to his throat, fingertips brushing over it for mere seconds. When he dropped his arm, Thor’s eyes remained glued there, focused on the scar to which Loki had just unintentionally drawn his attention.

 

“Loki.”

 

“I don’t know how I’m here but I am and it was _no_ doing of mine. I died on that ship so that _you_ might somehow muddle along and manage to defeat Thanos.”

 

“Loki.”

 

Loki reined in his magic and threw up his arms, exasperated and suddenly lacking all the composure he had initially possessed. “Yet _here_ we are. Charging in with Earth’s mightiest do-gooders to finish the job. I swear, I can’t possibly— What are you doing?” Thor had began to advance. Where Loki would have previously stumbled back and away, _this time_ he stood his ground. For _once_ , he had done nothing to warrant his brother’s anger. “Thor, I _will_ gut you where you stand! And then I'll feed your innards to— _oomf_!”

 

He should have seen that embrace coming. StormBreaker fell to the ground with a _thud_ , so that Thor could use both arms to gather his brother against him. One hand splayed across Loki’s leather-clad back while the other cradled the back of his head. The younger stood stiffly, eyes staring at nothing beyond were the their audience stood.

 

“You were supposed to _win_ , you oaf.” Loki lowered his face into Thor’s shoulder, bringing his arms up to return the embrace.

 

“I told you that you could be more, little brother.” As Thor spoke, there was a sound that distinctly resembled a whimper but Loki would deny it until his dying day. “I’m proud of you.” The thunderer squeezed a little tighter, if only to reassure himself that Loki was really there—flesh and blood, breathing, and heart beating. He could almost _hear_ the younger god scowling when the tension returned, signaling the embrace had reached a point of uncomfortable for him.

 

“I hate you.”

 

“No, you don’t.” Thor smiled, pressing his lips into Loki’s hair before he pushed him back. Loki quickly swatted his hands away.

 

The younger curled his lip and dusted off his leathers as if Thor had somehow sullied them. “If you’re quite finished with this _marvelous_ display of sentiment, we can be going now.”

 

Thor opened his palm parallel to the ground and called StormBreaker up, catching it with ease. He watched Loki spin on a heel and board the jet as if he owned it. The thunderer shook his head fondly and turned his upper body toward the others. “Come, friends.”

 

“Wait, are we not going to take a vote here?” Tony chimed in while falling in step with everyone else. “Just like _that,_ he gets a pass?”

 

Bruce shook his head. He had told Tony the tales of the Statesman as he remembered from the Hulk’s eyes. That, along with Thor’s accounts of Loki’s schemes and heroics, should be enough. However—just like Loki—Tony favored the dramatic.

 

“He literally _just_ threatened Thor!”

 

“We’ll talk on the ship, Tony.” Steve said, clapping the inventor on the shoulder. Natasha gave a tight smile and fell in behind the other two.

 

“Well, we can _definitely_ take him _inside_ for shawarma this time, right?”

 

Clint was the last on board, closing the hatch with a smile and a shake of his head. This was the team that was going to make Thanos wish he had never _seen_ an infinity stone?

 

Damn right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, I'm no longer taking prompts for the Sick or Sane series. Things were just too demanding and I was letting a lot of people down. I hope you still love me!


End file.
